Brian
by BritishAlien
Summary: This is the second story in my 'series' of Hitchhiker's Guide stories. My last was about Ford Prefect. This is about Arthur Dent. Please enjoy and review/comment!


Writers note: Ok, I have recently been reading the Glorious 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' books and I love them. However, I still think there are parts which aren't't fully explained or elaborated upon. So I intend to write some little Chapters including the characters that can fill in those gaps.

This is my second showing a couple of hours in the life of Arthur Dent on the prehistoric planet.

If you would like to check out my first Chapter please follow the link below:

.net/secure/story/story_?storyid=4942837

I do not own Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy!

Please Enjoy! Comment and Review!

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Arthur had been occupying himself with catching his supper for the last hour. He had caught only one fish, which he had decided to call Brian and had let go. He gave up and moaned at the river for not harbouring enough tasty fish. He made certain that he emphasised the point of the size of the fish. Brian had only been very small, smaller than a Babel fish that had accidentally found its way into an industrial meat grinder.

He used all the techniques he had learnt in school about the art of persuasion. He used lists of three, exaggerated language and he was even able to throw in a couple of references about God as well. After a good ten minutes of constant and insistent persuasion, Arthur felt that he had gotten his point across. He picked up his rabbit-skin bag which would've carried his fish home in and he began to walk back to his cave.

He passed by the Golgafrinchams on the way back and saw that there was not many left. The Captain was still in his bath. From where Arthur was standing it look like the captain had shrivelled up into some sort of giant prune, which had caught a disease which shrivelled prunes up until they were more 'shrivellier.'

(_The writer of this has taken into account that 'shrivellier' may not actually be a real word but finds it appropriate in explaining the sheer shrivelliness of the Captain as Arthur perceives him._

_Note: please read the aforementioned paragraph referring to the word shrivellier not being an actual word and address to the word shrivelliness._)

Anyway… back to the Golgafrinchams. As we've established, the Captain is _still _in his bath. However, the thing that drew Arthur's attention towards the Golgafrinchams was this. A couple of the people were playing volleyball. They were using two trees as posts, some vines as the net and the Captain's rubber duck as the ball.

The rest of them were lying about like hippies at an open air festival. Not a care in the world, well why should they care? They were on a planet, millions of miles from their dead home world, half the people who had made the trip had drowned on arrival on the night they now called 'The Bravest Under Going of the Golgafrincham Extra-terrestrial Race' or 'BUGGER,' and they constantly had the distinct notion that something was amiss but they couldn't quite think what. Life was perfect for them. Arthur stared at them and wished how he could be as care free as them. Yet, he knew that he had done so many things in the last few years which might have changed the universe forever that if he ever stopped caring about anything then something distinctly unpleasant would happen to himself and those around him.

Over the last four months, as he had slowly begun to realise that he was stuck there, he had begun to smarten his cave up a little. Make it look a bit more presentable. He had picked some wild flowers which he claimed were the ancestors of the rhododendron. He had placed them in a small rock which he had chiselled out by using a Swiss-army knife which he had 'borrowed' from a Golgafrincham, which he had filled with water and plonked the flowers in. He had made the world's first pot-plant, which he was quite proud of. Then he would sweep the floor regularly to keep the scent of dead animals from infesting his home. In fact, he felt like he preferred his small, damp, groggy cave to his house that he would own in the future.

He got back to the cave and sat on one of the boulders which he had geometrically placed around the cave, just to give the place a sense of order.

He sat and stared at a variation of a 'moggy' which was trying to dig a hole in the ground. It was very fast. It's sharp claws were ripping away at the soft soil. It slowly became increasingly annoyed as the hole it was digging became harder to dig. After about half an hour, Arthur clocked it. He had worked out why the creature was struggling; there must have been a rock underneath it. Arthur pitied the creature but didn't want to help as he may get his hands dirty. He felt quite proud of himself for working out the cat's dilemma. However, after suddenly feeling quite elated and proud, he suddenly felt stupid and conspicuous. It had taken him half an hour to work out a simple problem which should've taken him thirty seconds to work out at the most.

Being on this prehistoric version of Earth for five years, without sufficient human company had turned him peculiar. He felt stupid, like a man who had turned up to the village idiot contest only to find out the other guy won because he didn't turn up.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he realised that the cat had moved off. It was now using its sharp teeth to etch a message into the ground. It was writing English.

'_He…'_

_A cat can write and understand him? _Arthur though this strange. He had spent months teaching the cavemen to play scrabble, and all they had managed was the word '_Ugh_' and they'd even spelt that wrong.

'_will…'_

The cat continued. It had oddly beautiful writing, like an early version of calligraphy.

'_return!…'_

The cat then wandered off to the river where Arthur had tried and failed to catch his supper earlier, and the cat ate Brian.

The author has forgotten the point of this tale, but hopes that it may come in handy to someone in the future.

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Thank you for reading.

Please review and comment!


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